The Mysterious Mask

Master Zheng had truly put a great deal of thought into his request. Yet, how could he possibly know that Yang Fan's cultivation method, the **Xianhong Manual**, was unique and could never be passed on to another? Only he could practice it.

"Alright, I agree," Yang Fan replied without hesitation. In fact, he was in need of a few disciples to assist him in various tasks—gathering materials, refining pills, tending to patients, running errands, and so on. All the tedious and laborious work could be left to disciples or apprentices, leaving Yang Fan to focus on healing more advanced cultivators and steadily advancing his own cultivation without any distractions.

Master Zheng was slightly taken aback, not expecting Yang Fan to agree so easily. 

"Young Master Yang, I trust that with your integrity, you wouldn't deceive an old man who's already one foot in the grave," he said with a sigh of relief, showing a rare hint of satisfaction. Reaching into his storage pouch, he pulled out a soft, white mask made of supple leather. It was extremely thin, almost translucent, and crisscrossed with intricate veins that resembled human meridians.

"This is a peculiar object I came across in my lifetime. It might very well be a spiritual artifact. It possesses several mysteries—once worn, it not only allows one to change their appearance and conceal their aura but also refreshes the mind and strengthens focus. I once wore this mask and stood unaffected under the spiritual pressure of a cultivator at the **Condensation Stage**. Today, I gift this to you, Young Master Yang. Furthermore, after my granddaughter becomes your disciple upon her return from the Ghost Corpse Mountain trial, I will offer you medicinal herbs and spirit stones as a token of my gratitude."

With that, Master Zheng handed the mask to Yang Fan.

"This artifact is rather intriguing…" Yang Fan remarked as he ran his fingers over the mask's surface. It felt cool and smooth, almost like human skin. He injected a trace of spiritual energy, and the mask became semi-liquid, as if melting into his touch.

"What's this mask called? How effective is its disguise ability?" Yang Fan inquired, intrigued.

Master Zheng smiled awkwardly. "When I first found it, I only treated it as an ordinary disguise mask and never uncovered its true origins. But as for its effectiveness… I once wore it and completely concealed my identity in front of a Condensation Stage cultivator."

"Perhaps it's merely a supplementary spiritual artifact, without any particularly powerful abilities," Yang Fan mused, studying the mask in his hand.

Seeing this, Master Zheng chuckled bitterly. "This mask is the only spiritual artifact I have left that's worth anything. The rest of my trinkets wouldn't be of any interest to someone like you."

He understood that the mask, while mysterious, was still a mere disguise tool, at most a supplementary spiritual artifact, without any profound powers or extraordinary capabilities.

"Regardless, it is still a spiritual artifact, and I won't refuse it," Yang Fan said lightly, putting the mask into his storage pouch. Though he had probed the mask with his spiritual sense and found its material to be incredibly unusual, far superior even to his low-grade spiritual weapon, **the Qingfeng Sword**, Master Zheng, being a cultivator of only the **Qi Refining Stage**, lacked the means to discern its true value. He had unknowingly treated it as just an ordinary auxiliary artifact.

Relieved, Master Zheng smiled. "In a few days, when the Ghost Corpse Mountain trial begins, I'll bring my granddaughter to meet you, Young Master Yang, so she can experience the world for herself."

"When do we depart? I'll need to make some preparations," Yang Fan said thoughtfully. Ghost Corpse Mountain was a notoriously dangerous place, and Yang Fan knew better than to be careless.

"In five days, the third-generation disciples of **Rain Mist Manor** will be setting out. I had hoped to leave with you today..." Master Zheng paused.

"Why don't you stay in **Fog Willow Town** for a few days? You could even assist me in my clinic if you're willing," Yang Fan suggested eagerly. After all, Master Zheng was a well-known healer in the local cultivation world. If he agreed to help, the reputation of **Pulai Clinic** would undoubtedly soar to new heights.

Master Zheng, however, hesitated. "My granddaughter is still at Rain Mist Manor, and I have some matters to attend to. I'm afraid I cannot linger here."

Yang Fan felt a hint of disappointment. It was true, no matter how much one hoped, not everything in this world could bend to their will. Even immortals, it seemed, were no exception.

After bidding Master Zheng farewell, Yang Fan immediately set to work, preparing for the upcoming journey to Ghost Corpse Mountain. He had long heard of the place's ominous reputation—said to be shrouded in dense, deathly yin energy. Rumors spoke of ancient tombs, thousands of years old, containing priceless treasures of cultivation.

There were even tales from local mortals about ghostly apparitions—phantoms of women, wretched ghouls, and, even more frightening, walking corpses...

Given these chilling stories, Yang Fan refined several spiritual pills and sent his apprentice, Lin Zhong, to trade for talismans at Yang Fortress.

Days flew by. In the blink of an eye, four days had passed, and Yang Fan's preparations were complete. As night fell, he suddenly realized that there were only a few hours left before he was due at Rain Mist Manor, and if he didn't leave soon, he would be late.

Riding a horse along the official roads wouldn't get him there in time. In his past life, before his cultivation had been crippled, he had been a **Condensation Stage** cultivator, able to fly freely on a sword. Many from the Yang clan had envied and coveted his ability to soar through the skies.

"Flying…" Yang Fan's eyes gleamed.

If he could fly to Rain Mist Manor, he would certainly arrive on time. With this in mind, he took out the mask Master Zheng had gifted him, infused it with spiritual energy, and pressed it against his face.

Instantly, the mask melded seamlessly with his skin, with no sign of discomfort.

"How strange…" Yang Fan muttered. The mask's peculiar material had fused so perfectly with him that it felt as though it had become part of his flesh.

For a **Qi Refining Stage** cultivator, the next step would be to shape the mask's appearance with spiritual energy. But Yang Fan, with his **Condensation Stage**-level spiritual consciousness, needed no such effort. He simply willed it, and the mask responded to his thoughts, altering his face.

In the blink of an eye, his appearance underwent a complete transformation. He took out a mirror and began adjusting his features to his liking.

Moments later, the mirror reflected the face of a man in his thirties, with sharp, angular features and a cold, piercing gaze. His aura radiated a frigid, unapproachable chill, as though he were an icebound mountain, indifferent to the world around him.

Yang Fan's eyes lit up. This mask not only altered one's appearance, but even the very essence of one's aura.

Could this mask really be just an ordinary spiritual artifact?

Yang Fan realized that he had stumbled upon a treasure.

Staring at the cold and distant figure in the mirror, he murmured, "This face and demeanor would be perfect for a demonic cultivator."

"Very well, then. From now on, this will be my second identity—**Shi Qianhan**."

A glint of dark light flashed in Yang Fan's eyes as a pure, potent demonic energy surged within him, suffusing the room with a chilling, domineering aura. For the first time in months, Yang Fan allowed himself to relax, reveling in the fierce, untamed power coursing through his veins.

The demonic path, with its wild arrogance and ruthless disregard, seemed to resonate with his truest self.

As he uttered the name Shi Qianhan, Yang Fan knew it carried a far deeper meaning than merely an alias.